


No Love Lost

by Glowstar826



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Angst, Battle, Blood and Injury, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Duelling, Epic Battles, Fights, First War with Voldemort, Fist Fights, Gen, IWSC | The International Wizarding Schools Championship Writing Challenge, Injury, Major Character Injury, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Minor Violence, One Shot, POV Severus Snape, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Roughhousing, Roughness, Sad, Severus Snape-centric, Spells & Enchantments, Violence, Wands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28475052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glowstar826/pseuds/Glowstar826
Summary: Two rivals meet in the dead of night to settle a long-overdue score.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	No Love Lost

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you so much to my beta, Hucklebarry!**

A wand is pulled gingerly from a robe pocket. Slender, pale, almost feminine fingers wrap around its handle.

A hand holds it up and aims it at the silhouetted target in the distance. This target stands, his posture rigid and his own wand at the ready. Hatred glints in the target's eyes as the wind blows through his snow-peppered hair.

The first man, known to both as the predator, stands tall. His robes billow majestically as they fade into the stormy night. His stance is defensive, for he knows all too well that the struggle ahead will not be an easy one, especially now as he wipes snowflakes off his face.

The two of them find themselves engaging in a voiceless battle of wills. They hold a deadly gaze, silently urging the other to make the first move. Minutes run by in which neither of them do anything. They lose sight of the gnarled branches and the crumbling headstones that are scattered in their wake, and they become aware only of their shared existence. It is momentarily forgotten that they are in a hard-fought war, but they sober up and start weighing what is at stake.

Squinting through the snow, the predator finds himself sneering as he takes a moment to feel the excitement associated with making the target end up sorrier than a dying unicorn. He is confident that he will win this fight, for the darkness in him is overwhelming. The loathing he feels for the man in front of him will ensure that no guilt is felt. Once the target learns that the predator knows his secret, it will only be a matter of time before the target succumbs to his shame and fear.

As soon as the predator casts the first spell, the target swipes his wand up and creates a shield for himself as a thin orange jet of light is shot at him. As the latter rushes forward to reciprocate the action, the predator sees the target's feral face. The former leaps, gracefully avoiding a beam of red. As he lands, he casts another spell, successfully knocking his opponent down. The predator grins evilly as the target falls, but the smirk is wiped off his face when he is blasted back. He flies, thudding on the ground and sliding across the frost. The target moves towards him and holds him in place. Before the predator has a chance to get up, his head is shoved back as his mouth is caught by the target's fist, and he winces when his head makes contact with the ice beneath him. His eyes widen when he feels a warm liquid run down his neck.

The predator is now the prey as he wipes blood from the back of his head, and he is mesmerized by the stark brightness of it as it drips onto the white snow. The target cracks his knuckles, and all the prey can see are stars as he is kicked in his abdomen. He breathes in sharply as he clutches his stomach. The prey, after a moment of indecision, lets his limbs go limp. As he hears the telltale crunching of the snow on the ground, signaling to him that the target is moving away, he assumes the role of the predator once more. He rolls over, wincing as his body weight puts pressure onto his newly-cut wounds, and he rises and arms himself with his wand. A soft smile forms on the predator's face as the curse he casts hits his target yet again.

The target falls forward, and with a swift movement, the predator punches him on the nose. Satisfied as he hears a crack, he throws the target down and starts kicking him. His victory is short-lived, though, as his ankles are grabbed and he is pulled to the ground. He moves his head quickly before the target's fist can come into contact with him again, and he grabs the front of his target's robes and flips him over, starting to deliver blow after blow to his opponent's features. Then, the predator binds the target with a flick of his wand. With the target unable to move, he wrenches the target's wand from him, snapping it in half with his black-clad boot.

"You _bastard_! I've had that wand since my first year!"

"That is not my problem. I'm sure you have more than enough to buy another." It is at this moment that the predator has his opponent where he wants him. With that thought in mind, he continues nonchalantly, "I wonder what your lover would say if he learned of this situation."

Confusion presents itself on the target's face.

"Lover? What lover?"

The predator leans in so that his mouth is positioned next to his opponent's ear, and he speaks.

"Don't deny it, now," whispers the predator, indulging in his desire to make his opponent squirm. "I saw how you looked at him back in our seventh year —"

"Shut up," pleads the target fearfully.

"I still see the longing in your movements and the lust in your eyes," the predator pushes, relishing the pained look that is elicited from his statement. "Back at school, I saw how you both snuck off after dinner and never came back. I saw your discreet movements, I saw the stolen kisses and the hand holding —"

"Shut UP! You don't know what you're talking about!" the target spits with vitriol.

"Oh, but I do. I always knew you were no good for Lily," says the predator, all signs of amusement gone from his demeanor, "but as I look at your obvious attempt to conceal your infidelity, it makes me think that Lily was delusional, too —"

"Don't you _dare_ say anything against Lily!" yells the target, squirming in the ropes. "At least I feel guilt! I never asked for this! I never asked to fall in love with my best friend —"

"Cut the hogwash!" shouts the predator. "She _trusts_ you, but you've gone off and _cheated_ on her! I don't give a damn about you and your whore of a mutt, but I _do_ give a damn about Lily!"

"But do you?" questions the target darkly, managing to slip out of the ropes. "You turned your back on her. You called her a Mudblood — shamelessly, I might add — and then you joined Voldemort. You had your chance with her, and you blew it. And besides, what makes you think she gives a damn about _you_?"

At that, the predator rushes forward and tackles the target. The latter overpowers the former and flips the predator onto his back.

"You just don't like me with her," the target tells the predator bluntly, "and that's the truth, Snape! You were always jealous of me, of Sirius —"

But the predator says nothing as he tries to wriggle out of the grip he is trapped in. This only serves for the hold on his arms to tighten.

"I know you're jealous. I can see it in your face," says the target with a hard tone.

"Jealousy is better than infidelity, I should think," the predator responds, and this is answered with a hard punch. The predator, however, does not react.

"You can't hurt me, Potter," the predator goes on. "You took away everything from me — there's nothing left for me to lose." At this point, the predator realizes that, contrary to the prediction he made at the beginning of this duel, there is a small possibility of him ending up as the losing party. But he also knows that, whatever it takes, he must win.

"Why don't you kill me?" asks the predator. "There is no love between us, so none of it will be lost. I know you want to, so get it over with. After all, you did hate me because...what was it? Ah. Because I… _existed_."

"You know _very well_ I didn't mean that —"

"But didn't you?" mocks the predator with a lazy grin. "What other reason could there be?" Realizing that his opponent does not have a wand — courtesy of himself — the predator wandlessly summons his own and shoves it into the other man's hand.

"Go on. Kill me," taunts the predator. "I'm sure it'll be a victory for your side. The...Order of the Phoenix, was it? Ran by that old coot?"

"Don't — insult — Albus — Dumbledore," warns the target through gritted teeth.

"It won't matter," the predator responds. "You have your chance."

The predator and the target fall back into their battle of wills. The predator sees that the wind has calmed, and he notices the rising sun.

After a long time of scrutinization, the target gets up and throws the wand in the predator's face with disgust. The predator smiles, for this is the reaction he hoped for.

"No. I won't kill you," says the target. He struggles to stand, but he manages to limp to a tree and lean against it for support. The predator finds himself thankful, for once, for the target's twisted, but predictable, sense of honor.

"Why not? Are you suddenly some saint now?" The predator knows he must continue to goad the target to back the latter into a dead end that will ensure the former's victory.

"No, Snape. I know what you're trying to do, and I won't fall for it. I'd like to keep my soul intact."

The last sentence makes the predator see red. Shaking, he jumps up, runs over to the tree, and slams the target onto the snow-covered ground, holding him in a chokehold. He knows what he is doing is wrong, but he cannot bring himself to care. Every single fiber of his hatred is brought up to the surface in this very moment, and all the predator wants now is for his former tormentor to die.

"You _filthy cunt_!" screams the predator, losing all of his composure. "You _tormented_ me! You _assaulted_ me! You _stripped me_ in front of the school, and you _laughed at my pain_!"

"Stop," the target gasps. " _Stop_ — I can't breathe…"

"Then I'm doing this right, am I not?" snarls the predator, pushing harder. He does not smile as his face scrunches up in concentration.

"Please — don't," pleads the target. "I — home — Lily — Harry…"

"What, do you think Lily will _forgive_ you once she learns you're fucking Black? I'm doing her and her son a favor!"

"Stop! Get OFF!"

The predator's hand is wrenched off the target's neck, and the former winces as his head makes contact with the tree. The predator watches the target with a sick fascination as the latter coughs violently, blood dripping from his nose. He tries standing, but he slips and falls back. The predator stands and moves to the target, looking down upon him while keeping his head high.

"Lily is a clever witch, Potter," the predator says slowly in a low voice. "Why are you wasting time living two lives?"

The target remains silent.

"I'll answer the question for you, then," says the predator calmly, kneeling down. "You don't want to lose face. _You_ are afraid of being seen as the bent loser who was pathetic and depressed enough to have cheated on his innocent, pure, _normal_ wife."

The predator feels a slight, involuntary nag of pity as the target's eyes glaze with unshed tears.

"I can't help being queer, you know," whispers the target. "I never thought that this — this sickness — would ever plague me."

"Sickness, you say, Potter?" demands the predator, his eyes narrowing into furious slits. "You think that being queer is a… _sickness_?"

"What else could it be, Snape?" replies the target. "It's not normal, and I hate myself for feeling this way —"

"And yet," the predator interrupts, "you are giving into this 'sickness' by fucking the dog. Tell me, what does that say about yourself? You say that you love Lily, but the real sickness here is the fact that you think it's _okay_ to lie to her and that your faithfulness is nothing but a fragile mask of deceit."

"My faithfulness to Lily is none of your concern, Snape, so why are you so determined to — to do whatever it is that you're doing? Why _did_ you lure me here, anyway, if not to kill me? Why are _you_ the one lecturing my morals?"

The predator looks at the target, almost daring him to speak. Time passes by the two men as they stare at each other. When the predator finally talks, his voice is emotionless.

"Lily will despise you once she learns of the heinous act you are committing. It's only fair to her if I kill you now before the imminent wounds — which will be caused by _your_ worthless, adulterine hide — are cut so deep that they won't have any chance to close. I did that to her once, and I'm never letting _anyone_ do that to her _ever_ again."

The conviction the last sentence carries goes unnoticed by the target as he opens his mouth to retort.

"It won't end well for you, Snape," threatens the target with a quiver in his voice, standing up shakily.

"Oh, I don't care what happens to _me_ ," says the predator, but he does not elaborate as he readies his wand. Before he can do anything, the target opens his mouth to speak.

"What you're doing isn't the right solution to this. There's still time to make the right one. Let me go, and I'll end things with Sirius. Please, I'm not lying when I say that I love Lily and Harry. I know I've done stupid things, and this takes the cake. Just let me go, and I'll never bother you again. I'll go back and confess to Lily. I'll — I'll —"

"Fine," the predator says, his voice oddly flooded with relief.

"What?"

"I said _fine_!" shouts the predator irritably. "Go, but don't let me see your face again! Next time I see you, I will _not_ hesitate to kill you, you understand?"

Happiness washes over the target's face. After a few moments, the target runs away, and when the telltale crack of Apparation fills his ears, the predator lets out a breath as he leans against the slippery tree trunk.

The predator takes some time to breathe, for what he just went through was a proper ordeal. He never thought that he would win against his enemy like this, nor did he think that he would accomplish what he set out to do. Even with his confidence at the beginning of the duel, there was a continual thorn of doubt regarding his triumph.

His thoughts bring him to the point in his struggle where he nearly killed his opponent in blind anger. He shudders as he thinks about what might have happened had he successfully strangled him. The predator is partly glad that the target managed to stop him in time, for it would not have done well to have him lose even more than he already lost.

"That was quite the performance, Severus," says a wizened old voice from behind him, and the predator immediately stands up and makes his way over to the source of the voice. "Although I believe the death threat was a bit much. And you did _not_ need to choke him as you did —"

" _You_ were the one who told me to play my part convincingly, Dumbledore," the predator growls. "God, my head aches so much…"

"Do not worry, my boy," says the old wizard, placing a hand on the predator's shoulder. "It is nothing Poppy can't fix."

"But why couldn't you have just confronted Potter yourself? Why did you have to make _me_ , of all people, face him?" asks the predator as the old wizard conjures up a warm cloak for the weary man.

"I have my reasons," replies the old wizard. "All you need to worry about now is getting some rest. The Potters are going into hiding soon, so I needed to make sure this love affair between James and Sirius came to an end."

The predator turns away as he feels tears welling in his eyes.

"What is wrong, Severus?" asks the old wizard worriedly, seeing clearly through the younger man's mask. He walks back quickly and pulls the predator into a gentle embrace.

"I…I nearly became a murderer…I almost killed him in cold blood…"

"Severus, the fact of the matter is that James ended up surviving, and you did _not_ become a murderer," assures the old wizard. "Please believe me when I say that I am _beyond_ grateful for your help," the old wizard adds with unyielding sincerity. "Thank you."

The predator says nothing to this as he finds unexpected solace in the old wizard's gratitude.

Seeing the rising sun, the old wizard figures that it is time to leave. With that, he puts a protective arm around the young man's shoulder, and they Apparate back to Hogwarts in silence.


End file.
